


Being The Lonely Man In The Room

by noblepilcher



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Homophobia, M/M, More of a “reading inbetween the lines” deal than a divergent canon, Mostly eddie’s POV, Pining, Spoilers, eventual NSFW
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 11:50:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20600306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblepilcher/pseuds/noblepilcher
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak has spent his life running away from the things that make him happy. He denied himself family just as he denied himself closure back when the Loser’s club was most willing to give it. Thanks to Mike, they’re all back in the same room. More than just memories seep back into his life.





	Being The Lonely Man In The Room

Memory. A sum of parts, of nerves, detached from their roots. Eddie let them go just as he let Derry go. With some semblance of hope.

Of change. He was foolish to believe that luck could have ever been on his side. Freedom wasn’t made for kids born out of loss. Over one hundred miles away, and reflections of severed pieces intertwined with his reality until desensitization became an everyday normalcy. He couldn’t pin their source. No, it scuttled farther away the older he got. Shadows of monsters remained nothing more than that. Shadows. Eventually, Eddie began to resemble a shadow of himself.

He started to forget that there existed more comfortable sources of light. Elsewhere.

—

From the second he graduated, his life resembled a series of running away from things. No such concept as “moving forward”. Currents of constant paranoia swept him away alongside cardboard boxes full of possessions. Thicker, and heavier, until even the voice of his own mother sank to the bottom of the lagoon. Until Mike called, he refused to acknowledge the magnet pull from beneath. Like starting a boat when the anchor has already been cast.

Hell,  _ when _ Mike called, he wanting nothing more than to keep swimming. There had to be another side in this endless ocean. Far away from the brine, the moss, stuck to the bottom of the sea. And yet, he let himself sink. And  _ yet _ he left no notice.

Wherever he would land, there would have no peace of mind.

Driving into Derry is like driving into a photograph. Recognition doesn’t hit him right away. Familiarity, yes. Like retracing a book he hadn’t picked up since he was a child. Every corner, every turn, came with an automated simplicity. And his heart feels as if it might explode. Beating hard, harder.  _ Oh, lord Eddie. You’ll have a heart attack. You’ll have a fucking attack, and you’ll die where you promised yourself you wouldn’t. _

Familiarity. Yes. The heavy neon lighting of The Oriental Jade pushes recognition. Catching glimpses of faces, still soft. Still living. So  _ real.  _ Nestled in Bill Denbrough’s arms, and remembering why he had to leave in the first place. It’s all as exciting as it is frightening. Feeling like a child again, when your definition of “feeling like a child” never carried a comfortable meaning. One by one, the Losers fill the room. Happy. Healthy. Successful.

Then, Richie Tozier.

Eddie saw Richie on New York billboards regularly. He drove past them, making a point to look no more than a few seconds. Ignoring the lump in the back of his throat, he compulsively called his wife to keep mapping out an escape route. Certainly, it was indicative of his constant need to avoid moving backwards. Endless were the opportunities to stop and smell the roses. He never took them.

Seeing Richie, soft in his old age, he knows that it’s more so indicative of fearing moving forward. Movement that- if he had been more honest with himself earlier- could have given him the happiness the Losers promised each other before Beverly left to Oregon. In that moment, it’s the one feeling that stimulates a sudden sense of relief.

And joy. 

Richie’s hand is soft, his grip firm, as his eyes settle on Eddie. Barking back comments, they bounce off of each other in a way that brings them back. To comforted children, to Richie sneaking into Eddie’s room when his mom was away. Reading comics beneath a shitty book light, and trying to make something safe out of the thick scent of death that permeated around them.

Eddie is afraid when things go wrong. But with the Losers there- with  _ Richie _ there- it’s not enough to make him want to  _ go _ .

He only backs into his car because he’s fearful that it’s the last straw for the rest of them.

—

His mom died due to combined liver and kidney failure. Convinced that he was comfortable with sickness, he visited her for her last time before she passed. The naked, emaciated pallor of her sick figure once again proved his confidence wrong. As she’d done so many times before. This was different in the way that it  _ proved _ to him how twisted his perspective was in the first place. He remembers memory, fear, and a physical sickness hitting all at once. He remembers leaning over a bridge in Brooklyn, spewing vomit over the rocks.

For the next few weeks, he mistook his skin for the same color of yellow. His teeth for black tar. He was young, and because of that, so was she.

Eddie married three months later.

—

Back at the hotel, he cries until his throat burns from the chemical additive he keeps spraying into his mouth. He’s dizzy from the medication, from the air, from how the world feels limited and dry. The windows, the mirrors- they’re all covered in linen from the closet and his bed. Anything to enclose the space. Anything to keep something from crawling through. From looking back at him, towards him, or at himself.

“Housekeeping.”

Eddie jumps as the door swings open. Not a monster, but a lopsided smile.

“_Rich_ .” Eddie hisses through his teeth. He doesn’t mean to sound so angry. Slowly, he blinks the tears away. Richie rubs his fingers along the sheets tacked to the connected bathroom.

“You’re two strings and six cans away from crazy paranoid. You’d think you’re waiting out the apocalypse-“

“Coming from the guy who flipped shit on a kid? I’m the rational one here.” His own laughter tastes bitter on his tongue. “Thought you were leaving?”

The other’s eyes trail away. Seemingly avoidant. A little unusual, and uncharacteristically reserved. Eddie catches his fingers picking at loose fabric on his jacket. “Yeah.” 

They share an unnerving silence, avoiding contact. Avoiding connection, while sharing a sense of  _ needing _ it. Eddie picks up on it first. 

Richie shifts his attention to the covered windows. “... does any of this matter outside of this shithole?”

“Do we?”

“I’m a three time SNL star. I’m instagram buddies with Will fucking Farrell, I’d say I matter.”

“I’m not teasing you this time.”

Richie swallows hard. With Eddie looking up at him like that, he sees genuine gentle sincerity. Avoidance shifts into discomfort. “So, like, the Losers Club? I mean, it’s not like this bugged us before.”

“... is that really true, though?”

“No, totally. I was actually considering clown college. Desensitized as shit.”

Quiet, again. But this time, Eddie meets Richie’s avoidance and pulls him in as the eyes meet. His head tilts, his brow furrows, looking inward enough for his friend to know that they’re past the jokes and distant conversation. He stands then. Richie pokes at the inside of his cheek with his tongue, and looks away. “What’s going on, man?” 

“C’mon Eds…”

“I’m scared too, you don’t have to-“

“ _ C’mon, Eds.” _

Eddie hesitates before Resting a hand on Richie’s shoulder. It creeps towards his cheek, fingers spread, and thumb rubbing the stubble just beneath his jawline. There’s something there that the two of them are. Neither want to acknowledge it.

Richie leaves moments later, and Eddie feels as if he’s lost a part of himself.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m writing this as I’m inspired- though I tend to update a little more frequently. 
> 
> Thanks to my boyfriend and his plentiful ideas that come from all 1000 pages of the book, lmao.


End file.
